Tiffani and Dez followed Nicole from the room, leaving four of them lounging.
“Why didn’t you try for it? It seems like a romance writer’s room.” Victor raised a cup of coffee to his lips and peered at her over the rim.
Felicity shrugged. “Honestly? I hope Dez wins. As much as I want to walk away with this prize, confining the guy to a bathroom the full seven weeks …”
Carmen scoffed and swung her leg back and forth over the arm of her chair. As usual, she wore a look of perpetual boredom. “You’re too soft to win this thing. You’re going home if you play nice.”
“Could be she’s just secure enough in her writing not to throw obstacles at others,” Roy interjected, running a hand over his buzz cut.
Felicity offered the older man a grateful smile.
“Watch it, old man,” Carmen warned.
Felicity couldn’t pinpoint why or when it had occurred, but the brief rapport she’d felt with Carmen had long since disappeared. The woman made her uncomfortable now. She wanted to send her home, even more than Tiffani.
“I think you should just worry about yourself,” Victor retorted, winning a few more points in Felicity’s book.
I think I’ll make my next hero a handsome Latino.
She raised her own mug, pretending to take a sip of her now cold coffee, when, really, she just wanted to hide her smile. Lately, the man had a habit of lifting her spirits in moments of doubt or turmoil.
But damn him, she was tired. Constantly waking up at night out of fear she was snoring was taking a toll.
The sound of laughter and pool balls cracking would normally fill Victor with good cheer, but tonight he only had a splitting headache. Instead of getting into the ‘we weren’t eliminated’ party, he was musing in a quiet corner, alone, watching everyone drinking beer around the pool table.
Except for Felicity. She was drinking wine. The smile she was aiming Roy’s way as they conversed — probably more war stories — caused his breath to hitch in his throat.
He wanted to tell her to stop looking so damn sexy all the time, but that would only give her whatever edge she needed to win, to beat him.
And he needed this money. He couldn’t fail his mother, not again.
He hadn’t been able to save her from all those men, though he had tried. He’d barely saved her after her stroke. She was living in a shell of her former self. What kind of life was that?
The least he could do was win this damn contest and provide for her.
He raised his cold beer can to his flushed face. I need a good roll in the hay, that’s all. No romance, no love, no going googly-eyed over a pretty woman I’m supposed to beat — just a good lay, no strings attached. Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to happen, not for another six weeks.
He rose abruptly and quietly slipped out of the room, leaving behind the smiles, jokes, banter, and rap music playing on the speakers. Socializing wasn’t high on his agenda. His manuscript wasn’t calling to him either, not that inspiration was striking.
He strode to the bedroom area with the intention of just lying down for a while.
“Hey. What are you doing?” Halting in his tracks, he eyed the woman on the floor by his bed.
Tiffani looked up at him coolly. “Just borrowing a romance book.”
“From Felicity? She’s letting you borrow a book?” Something wasn’t jiving here. He placed his hands on his hips.
Tiffani pushed herself off the floor, kicking the backpack she’d been rifling through back under the bed — Felicity’s bed.
“Yea. Um, she has Nicole’s latest release, and I haven’t read it yet.” She held up the romance novel he’d seen Felicity reading the day before.
He grimaced at the sight of a long-haired, ridiculously muscled man cradling a woman in his arms, their lips locked in a passionate kiss. “Ugh.”
“So, you don’t feel like partying?” She stepped closer to him, her breasts almost touching his chest. Her pink tongue darted out, licking her lips.
The thought hit him suddenly. He needed a good lay. There were no cameras in here. She was pretty much offering.
But she wasn’t what he wanted.
“Not in the mood,” he stated curtly. And that has got to be the first time I’ve ever turned down a willing woman.
“Too bad. Guess I’ll see you later.” She lowered her eyes as she stepped around him, brushing her breasts against his arm.
“Later.” He watched her sashay her way out of the room, feeling absolutely no response down below.
With a grunt, he reclined on his bed, placing a hand behind his head. Had Felicity finished her book that fast? Yesterday he could swear she was only halfway through that hefty novel. Well, none of his business.
“Hello, contestants. Welcome to round two. There are six of you left. The winner of this challenge will be able to manipulate the second elimination challenge, which will be in two days. By the end of the week, one of you will be closing your manuscript and going home. One of you will continue on to become the next bestseller, 100,000 dollars richer, with a Bright House publishing contract in hand.” As usual, Ophelia stood before them, her hands clasped behind her back, her purple suit straining at its buttons.
She focused on Tiffani. “Tiffani, readers voted for your story in the challenge between Dez and yourself. The fireplace room is now yours.”
Tiffani squealed so loud Victor winced. Her breasts moved up and down as she jumped, threatening to spill out of her pink tank top. He shook his head at the display. Why couldn’t Felicity wear tops like that? His day would be complete then.
“Damn,” Dez swore quietly.
“Tiffani,” Nicole Roberts drew their attention, “I must say, that piece was a pleasant change from what you did in the last competition. I commend you for it. The idea of a woman horse whisperer and a vet not seeing eye-to-eye, but yet falling in love despite their differences was well thought out and …”
Felicity gasped. Victor turned just in time to see her eyes narrow into slits and her jaw harden. It was not an expression he’d yet seen on her soft face. What was going on?
Before he could muse on it further, Ophelia spoke again. “Today we have a guest judge. Anthony Peters is an author who has made a name for himself outside of writing. Besides being a bestseller in fantasy and science fiction, he also started a website called R. Peters Internet Publishing Guide.” Ophelia paused to let the gasps and applause die down. “Over the last three years, this site has grown to over five million followers, mostly authors seeking the hard facts on miscellaneous publishing houses. Authors from all over the world email him their troubles, concerns, and experiences, which he then reveals on his website. Please welcome Anthony Peters.”
Victor clapped and grinned as the man in question appeared from behind the screen. This was a writer who had made a good, solid name for himself in the literary world. Victor was one of those five million followers. He’d not only read the guy’s books, but followed the site in question.
“Hey, everyone!” Peters was an older man, long gray hair, wrinkled, tanned skin, and his frame was a mere five-foot-six, but he stood before them with an air of confidence as he smiled and nodded. “I think most of you are well aware by now that e-books are taking over in the publishing industry.”
Everyone but Felicity nodded — what the heck was her problem? Peters continued, “This means a lot of authors are sidestepping the whole agent thing and just going straight to a publisher. Now,” he raised his hands as though pausing the questions they were all thinking, but not speaking aloud, “my website does not advise you what to or not to do. My website is solely a list of facts about many publishers that offer their services, people who may be posing as publishers but are really vanity publishers — folks that charge you money to publish your books. Stay away from them.
“Regardless, what I do is take data people send me, reports, if you will, and I list the facts on my website. Sometimes, I even investigate on my own and contact the publisher
about the complaints made against them. In the end, what goes on my site is my opinion, and it says as much right there for all to see.”
He bobbed up on his heels, once, twice. “Now, your first assignment was to email a literary agent, right?”
“Yes,” Victor volunteered.
“Yea,” Tiffani and Dez chimed.
When everyone had quieted, Peters made a hmm sound and rubbed his whiskered chin. “Well, let’s say you lost patience with the agent route or after a year of rejections, you decided it wasn’t going to work out. Or, perhaps your book is only 20,000 words. Not many agents pick up stories that length, but there are some good ones out there. You then decide to just submit to an e-book publisher.” He glanced around slowly, making sure he had their attention. “How do you find a good one?”
“And that is your challenge today.” Ophelia stepped forward, smoothly taking back the spotlight. “For the sake of today’s show, Mr. Peters has made his website unavailable. You are on your own. In today’s challenge, you have three hours to find an e-book publisher and hypothetically submit your manuscript to them. You can only choose one. You will write your chosen publisher a query, attach everything as requested, and save it in your email drafts. Upon the end of the challenge, Mr. Peters will inform us who chose well and who did not. Together, the four of us will pick the winner.”
“But … without Mr. Peters’s site, how will we know if the publisher has bad marks against them or not?” Victor voiced, alarmed. He was fully aware of the type of stuff that went on. He read the site. Could he remember the details? Never planning on submitting to an e-book publisher before, he hadn’t paid much attention to the publisher names, he’d merely laughed at the stupidity of some authors for the scrapes they found themselves in.
Now it could be him — hypothetically.
“There are other ways.” Peters smiled at him and winked. “Do your research.”
Victor stifled a groan.
“The Right Writer,” Felicity murmured next to his shoulder, so softly he thought he was imagining it at first.
“What?”
“Your time starts … now,” Ophelia announced.
Shit.
Chapter Seven
Felicity chewed her bottom lip, nearly drawing blood in her aggression, as she viewed the list of e-book publishers in front of her. She’d lucked out, if one could call it that after what had been revealed to her today. There were thousands of romance e-book publishers. Most of them appeared to take little else. Though an alarming amount seemed to prefer more hard core content, such as Tiffani’s style of writing.
That bitch.
It had been a struggle not to shout out right then and there “She stole my story!”
But to make an accusation such as that on national TV, without proof … before she could do anything, she had to make sure her notebook was still in her backpack. Tiffani had learned her idea from somewhere, and Felicity wasn’t in the habit of sharing with the other woman.
One thing was certain though. Nice girl Felicity was going bye-bye. If the others were going to play dirty …
With a sigh, she stretched on her daybed and rubbed her eyes, just for a moment. She’d never been a crier and she wasn’t going to start now. The best revenge would be to win. First things first though: find a good e-book publisher.
At least she had a plan of attack. Poor Victor had looked a bit bewildered.
She’d select one, check out their website, look up their Amazon rankings, and then see if any dirt had been revealed by authors on The Right Writer, a website where authors posted good and bad about their experiences with such companies.
The big question was which one should she look at first? Just going down this list could take all day, and she had only three hours.
After a few minutes ticked by, it came to her. She thought of the last e-book she’d read and quickly typed the title in the Amazon search engine. It had been her kind of romance, a solid story, and she’d found no errors while reading it, meaning they had good, trained editors. Today’s reader demanded perfect books, and shoddy editing could put them off fast, not to mention a publisher that just threw as many as books as possible out there with no thought to quality wouldn’t last very long.
Felicity knew this from all the snarky Amazon reviews. One little typo, and folks demanded a refund, it seemed.
There it was. A few clicks of the keyboard and the Amazon book page appeared in front of her. She scrolled down to book details. Ah, ha!
She had her starting point.
And when this challenge was over, she’d take care of Plan B.
The black curtain whooshed open.
“Time’s up. Please print your email submission, being sure the publisher name is clearly in the send to box, then fingers off the keyboards. Convene in front of the desk in twenty minutes.”
“Whew.” Victor met her outside their caves. “I hope I chose a good one.”
“I had too many to choose from.” Felicity shook her head. “I take it yours was narrowed down some. How many e-book publishers take crime fiction?”
“Well, what I write could also fall under mystery. I guess you could say I stand on the line between the two.”
“I understand that.”
The two held gazes until the air between them seemed to crackle. Felicity looked away, uncomfortably warm. She tried to bring dirty-playing Felicity back to the front, but though still angry, she couldn’t aim it his way.
He shifted, leaning against the dividing wall. “Thanks for the tip earlier. I found it online. It prevented me from making a major mistake.”
“Well, you did help me on the head-hop thing. If we get another writing challenge, I know to watch for that.”
He was watching everyone around them, so she was able to allow her gaze to travel the full length of him, all six-foot-something of leanness. Today, he wore a white tank top and low-cut jeans, not attire that usually got her heart racing, but on him it worked. She thought she even saw a tattoo on his right shoulder blade. She reached a hand out to move the strap and her breath caught in her throat. His skin, just inches under her hand, beckoned her.
“Are you ready to be judged?”
Felicity dropped her hand to her side and listened to the chorus of groans and sighs. Bring it, she wanted to scream, but outwardly, she remained calm.
But they were all here to be judged and critiqued.
“Let’s go.” If Victor had noticed her about to touch him, he wasn’t making an issue of it, for which Felicity was grateful.
She followed him to the back and awaited her fate. Footfalls sounded as everyone else positioned themselves. Hands were shoved in pockets and arms were crossed. Deep breaths were taken in a false effort at calm. Felicity caught Tiffani’s eye and gave her a sweet smile. The other woman’s eyes widened and she quickly looked away.
Uhm hmmm. You just wait.
“Mr. Peters has gone over the publishers you have selected to submit your work to. Here is what he has to say.” Ophelia sat straight behind the long desk and waited a beat. “Victor.”
He merely nodded.
Anthony Peters looked down at them from the desk. “Good query. I guess you all learned that already.”
Another nod, and a smile this time. Even his half smiles were hot. Felicity fought the urge to roll her eyes at herself. That little girl’s room was rubbing off on her. At least he was distracting her from her anger though.
Mr. Peters continued, “You chose a decent publisher for your genre: mystery, crime fiction. They have no bad reports. They pay on time, have good editing, but their sales leave much to be desired. Did you think to look that up?”
A crease formed on Victor’s brow. “Short of emailing every single author they have, I don’t see how I could be privy to that.”
“There are sites that reveal some of that data, also you can look at Amazon ranking, though that’s not the most trustworthy way to find out. However, you could have done better. You didn’t do th
e worst, but you could have done better. They are only averaging a few sales per title per month.”
“Ouch.” Victor winced.
“Hey,” Anthony spread his hands, “‘course, you could be what they need to get on the map.”
Even Victor had to chuckle. Felicity admired the grace he showed when he took criticism.
“Tiffani,” Ophelia called.
“Yes,” the blonde chirped.
“Can you tell me why you chose this publisher?” Peters asked.
“Their cover art is hot.”
“I see.” His lips twitched, causing his gray mustache to move. “That’s about all that publisher has going for it. A little Googling would have told you authors are withdrawing their work and complaining of not being paid for six to eight months. Amazon froze their accounts. So you’d end up with great cover art and no money. Bad choice.”
The erotic writer glowered, but stepped back into line without a word.
Yes! An evil gremlin hissed in Felicity’s ear. She grinned, no longer caring if the cameras caught her satisfaction.
“Roy,” Ophelia announced.
“Sir.”
“I’m not sure why you chose this publisher, but they are fairly new and I don’t know much about them. There’s nothing wrong with choosing a new publisher. Everyone deserves a chance, but whereas Tiffani chose based solely on cover art, you didn’t look at the art at all. Their art is ugly, very copy and paste. Did you look at that?”
“No, sir,” Roy admitted. “I don’t feel a book should be chosen based on that. It’s good writing that sells.”
Peters shook his head. “No. I’m sorry. The days when people picked up a plain, hardback book are over. With a million e-books releasing a day, your book must stand out, must grab their attention immediately. Their covers do not do that. So unless they have a clause that allows you to provide your own art, you didn’t make the best choice. Not the worst, but not the best either. Cover art sells the book.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“Carmen,” Ophelia said.
Peters pierced the woman with his gaze. “Hate to break it to you, but the publisher you chose, their editing is nonexistent. All you had to do was read a few samples using Amazon Look Inside. It’s not a good sign, either, when there are errors in their blurbs, and I mean grammatical. Very bad choice. Matter of fact, the publisher you chose is on the verge of crashing. Not sure what you used for research, but bad choice.”
Plotting to Win Page 7